


Fouettes, Not Pirouettes

by Immaduckquack



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Ballet, Ballet Dancer Peter Parker, Dead May Parker (Spider-Man), Flash is mentioned briefly, Gen, Sorry May, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Very poor knowledge of Ballet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:35:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21586234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Immaduckquack/pseuds/Immaduckquack
Summary: Upon coming across his old Ballet school, Peter is hit with a wave of nostalgia.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 233





	Fouettes, Not Pirouettes

**Author's Note:**

> Um so i wrote this a while ago thinking about how Tom Holland took classes in Ballet and became inspired so...enjoy!

He didn’t mean to end up on that street.  
The burglar had almost gotten away, but Peter got to him just in time to web him up and start in the direction of the nearest police station. Once the job was done he looked around, trying to figure out the fastest way to get back to the Stark Tower. The route was different than usual as the chase led him to an unfamiliar part of town, however soon it felt vaguely familiar for a reason he couldn’t explain until he saw the soft light, illuminating the street from the building at the end of the road. He stopped on the rooftop of a house, crouching down to look in through the open blinds covering the window. Inside was a girl, perhaps sixteen or seventeen, practicing plies in the mirror. She was so engrossed in adjusting the lines and angles of her body she hadn’t noticed she was being watched. That raw concentration on her face sent Peter back many years.

***

After his parents had died, off on a trip they never returned from, he didn’t speak much. In fact, that’s a gross understatement as in reality he didn’t speak at all. He didn’t answer when the policemen were explaining what had happened to them. He didn’t speak when Aunt May and Uncle Ben told him he’d stay with them from now on. He cried silently at the funeral. Fat, bitter tears rolling down his cheeks as his face twisted and contorted to suppress the sobs shaking his small body against the brutal reality check of everything that felt like an awful nightmare throughout the past couple of weeks. But he didn’t make a sound. The doctors said it was the trauma and he had to talk to a therapist due to May’s worrying (though talk isn’t the word he’d use for hours of listening to the lady explain what he was feeling over and over while he himself had no qualms about staying in his comfortable vow of silence).

The quiet went on and on, filled in by May singing and dancing circles around him with books and children’s poems with predictable rhymes to encourage him to join in with. Instead of his voice, they were completed by May’s almost resigned tone, her hope slowly draining away. Her wrinkled frowns and worried looks exchanged with Ben only shut Peter further into himself, futile attempts at making himself go away from this intimidating world where all he knew was that he would never see his parents again. That entire year was painted through shades of grey and marked in the peeling paint on the wall he’d stare at. Days passed, trapped in the static of switching channels as nothing felt right ever again. Peter had lots of favourite things before, toys, songs, games, books and a favourite park he played at and then a favourite place to get ice cream from and yet, in this new reality, nothing was favourite anymore. Nothing was even tolerable when all that happiness locked in memories was now streaked in loneliness and stained with grief.  
Endlessly pressing a button on the remote to May and Ben’s rickety old television had quickly become a good distraction. Never settling on a show too long before skipping to the next one, the varying sounds mixing and blending in with the endless buzzing in his ears. It drove May mad but it was a step up from staring at a wall so she just about managed. So, the lifeless staring at the blurs of colours continued until one day during this ritual of his, his attention was caught by lively sounds of violins and flutes. Across the screen was a girl dressed in a white skirt with white feathers in her hair twirling across a stage on pointe shoes. She was met halfway by a man dressed in dark clothing who moved just as gracefully as she did and they moved in unison flowing and ebbing like a river. It was fascinating and the solitary sound of the swan lake soundtrack piqued May’s interest to look over the kitchen island and at what Peter was doing. The whole routine was so entrancing that the cold void behind Peter’s little sternum was suddenly filled with classical music and he couldn’t pull his gaze away from the couple and the background dancers and the scenery and the clear as day story that was speaking to him the way his father’s favourite records would.

“…I want to do that” pushed its way past his lips and May’s eyes widened as his first words in nearly a year had blossomed and bloomed from him echoing around the room bouncing off of every flat surface before taking the form of a tidal wave and washing her clean of every worry settled into the lines of her skin.  
Needless to say, the next day he found himself in the car with May and Ben outside a ballet studio with soft peeling pink paint and illustrations of little girls in tutu’s and with buns dancing across the bottom of the cursive sign. When they stepped inside everything smelled like gardenias and everywhere you looked was covered in lovely black and white candids of shows the school had clearly put on in the past. His Aunt and Uncle went to the front desk to discuss the classes but what caught Peter’s eye immediately was the glass pane in the door to the studio. Through it, he could see almost a dozen of children both older and similar in age to him, mostly girls but he could point out not one but two boys which settled some anxiety in his stomach, slowly stretching down while holding onto the bar; their arms and legs pointed and poised with a confidence Peter craved during this confusing time. At the front of the room was a woman, tall and elegant, reminding Peter so much of his mother he could feel the tears pricking the back of his eyes, the familiar bitter and hot feeling flaring up across his entire body before slowly melting away as he kept watching the woman demonstrate positions and movements to the other children. He was pulled out of his mind by the receptionist calling him over with pamphlets and brochures explaining the kit he needed and what the classes would entail. He was a little disappointed that the boys didn’t get to wear pointe shoes but he was really desperate to go through with this new and unknown experience that seemed to spark something within him since the loss of the most important people in his life.

The teacher’s name was Mrs Moss and she was lovely. Peter hated new social situations like having to start a new school closer to where Ben and May lived so it was more convenient with their work. This would be the second new class he had to introduce himself to in such a close time frame which made him really nervous but Mrs Moss introduced him and she immediately set him to work which made Peter so grateful as he didn’t have to go through with any questions or uncomfortable small talk with the other children who have been attending this class for much longer than he has. It turned out that ballet was actually, really hard. His arms ached from keeping them in the same position even though he arrived at the class no more than half an hour ago. What also came from these classes was that ballet was as exhilarating as it was difficult, with each correctly done position, came a rush of that music and warmth he felt from watching the broadcast of Swan Lake a mere week beforehand. It wasn’t long until Peter started to pick things up and discovered his all-time favourite thing. Pirouettes. He was far from mastering them and he never seemed to move his head back to his assigned spot at the right time but the unadulterated joy he felt from watching the entire world slowly melt away into a slurry of colour was impossible to recreate. Dancing made him want to talk about dancing and May quickly found it a difficulty to get Peter to shut up about his classes, she never complained seeing as the delight emanating from her nephew was so amazing, it gave her hope that maybe things would be okay after all. He was soon getting picked for recitals and once, even getting the role of the Prince in Sleeping Beauty. He didn’t know how they did it but every time he had a performance either May or Ben always made it despite their busy work schedules and for that he was eternally grateful.

***

The girl in the studio was moving onto jumps, lightly stepping across the paneled floor, carefully watching herself in the mirror, frowning at any mistakes and adjusting her posture, straightening her arms or smiling a bit wider. Despite the clear signs of strain slipping down her temples in light drops she glowed with pride as she landed a jump perfectly. It made Peter’s heart skip and he longed for the inner light that ballet used to give him…

***

He does remember why he stopped, and that reason was named Flash Thompson. He had gone through sixth grade without too much trouble except dumb jokes like Flash pouring water on his artwork in class or calling him unoriginal nicknames like nerd or four-eyes but he didn’t mind too much since he met Ned and became Best friends with him. Over the summer he managed to forget all about Flash and focus on his studies and getting ready for a slightly bigger performance. Mrs Moss had been ecstatic to tell them they were invited to an event which was designed to bring ballet schools from all over the city together in a bigger production performance than what he was used to. It was all very exciting and even the local news came to interview Mrs Moss and the other Ballet teachers and even take pictures of the dancers. Peter’s class had two other boys, Tom and José, already so he didn’t think it a big deal. Turns out it was a big deal, a very big deal indeed because on the first day of seventh grade Flash came into homeroom and held up a newspaper article. On the main photo you could clearly see Peter dressed up in his costume smiling at the camera with his class. Some boys like Flash liked to keep to the stereotypes that Ballet was for girls, but if it was only for girls who would play the prince’s and the footmen and the other male roles (girls could probably do it and do just fine but Peter’s logic liked to keep him in the narrative). Soon, Flash had the entire class laughing at Peter’s expense which ended with him coming home and loudly declaring he never wanted to go to ballet again. Tad dramatic, but for a twelve year old it was the end of the world and Peter really regretted it now.

***

He wished he had ballet to see him through all what was to come like getting bitten by a radioactive spider on a field trip and the epic sickness he got after that. Then, losing Uncle Ben. He really wished he could spin all of that guilt and anger out of himself but his pride and exaggerated memory didn’t let him go back. He did meet Tony Stark though which was a major plus as the man was his childhood hero but all of that positive feeling from helping Mr Stark in his laboratory and going patrolling at Spider-man crumbled once May got into her accident and left Peter feeling exactly like he did at four. Cold and scared and wanting to go silent again. Luckily, Mr Stark didn’t let him and brought him into the Stark Tower almost immediately after the call from the hospital. Peter still grieves May months later but his new found family and loving friends are helping to ease the aches. Now, watching that girl twirl her way around the empty studio with its same peeling pink paint and its lovely cursive spelling out ‘Ballet’ it made a locked away part of Peter call out to him; so he readjusted his mask and made his way back to the tower.

It was late but luckily, a Saturday as Peter knew he’d get into plenty of trouble for staying up on a school night. May’s rules still applied in the afterlife and he would never have it any other way. The Tower was silent as most employee’s had gone home and Mr Stark was probably in his lab because Peter wouldn’t lie to himself hoping the older man had gone to sleep. He quickly changed and headed for the elevator. The way down to the Training Room was easy and he knew it had a ballet bar that no one used except for Natasha. The looming quiet was a comfort as the lights lazily flickered on and dimmed automatically as to not overwhelm him courtesy of FRIDAY. He scrolled through his phone until he could find a good playlist before staring into the mirror and gently stretching out. Luckily, stretching was not that hard and in fact, he could probably stretch further than he could at twelve due to these new spider powers. This meant he could probably try to go back into some of the more difficult stuff as usually he’d have to give himself time to readjust after such a long break. He easily drew first position and it felt like coming home after a long day. Muscle memory was a thing and it should be respected because Peter felt like he could almost hear Mrs Moss walking him through the warm ups at the start of each class. He took his time to move from one position to the next angling his feet and arms, straightening them out the same way he saw the girl at the studio do. Everything felt so familiar like the words to a song you used to listen to on repeat. Soon enough he began to move and do small leaps and more complex positions before slowly breathing. He knew he was ready. He lifted his head and locked his eyes with a specific brick on the wall before twisting his body and beginning to spin, watching as ever worry he’s had recently blurred into the dizzying hurricane of contentment.

***

Tony was slightly concerned. He briefly abandoned his newest suit in order to get some coffee when he spied Peter’s school bag and wondered where the hell the spiderling was. The boy usually comes into his lab after patrol to chastise him and try to convince him to sleep and though Tony was prone to getting carried away and losing the track of time he was convinced the boy should have come home by now.  
“Friday? Where’s Underoos?”  
“Mr Parker is in the main Training Room”  
The Training Room? What on earth is a spider-baby doing in the Training Room at this hour? Tony was very puzzled as he forgot all about the amazing idea he had for the suit laying abandoned on his lab table and headed into the elevator taking a long sip of coffee. When the door opened he was met with…classical music? That was definitely classical though he had no clue Peter was a fan. Looking up shocked him more. In the middle of the room was Peter, quickly spinning his leg pushing off of the floor at a rapid pace as his arms held their own in different positions each time. The usually clumsy boy was graceful and poised and it confused the hell out of Tony. Ballet? How come he didn’t know the boy did ballet? And so well. The teenager looked like he could be on a stage right now and not the mat covered floor of the Training Room. Peter started to lose speed as he came to a stop staring at Tony’s face in the mirror. The spider themed superhero squeaked loudly and lost his footing, stumbling and crashing to the floor in shock.

***

“Mr Stark! How long have you been there?”  
“How long have you been amazing at Ballet apparently?” Peter blushed at the praise before sitting himself up on the floor  
“I- I’m not amazing or anything…” Mr Stark snorted  
“Are you kidding? You were doing great! Those pirouettes looked amazing”  
“Fouettes”  
“What?”  
“Those were fouettes. Not pirouettes” Peter couldn’t help but correct Mr Stark after years of terms being driven into him in class  
“See, I don’t even know that. How come you didn’t tell me??” Tony’s voice was lightheartedly accusatory but Peter couldn’t help but flinch a little  
“I…I attended classes between ages four and twelve but...I haven’t done it since then until…tonight” Stark’s brows furrowed the same way May’s would when she picked up something worrying but luckily he didn’t pry.  
“What made you start again?” so many things rushed into Peter’s head at this time as he tried to describe what ballet made him feel in physical words.  
“I…Ballet was kind of like… a light after my parents died… and now with May… I wanted to see if it could still give me that warmth.” The older man’s face softened in a sympathetic manner that was unconventional for him but instead of spilling condolences and trapping Peter under mountains of sympathy he simply asked;  
“And did it?” Peter could only respond with a nod “Well then, if you want to start up classes again I can fund them” the boy’s eyes widened  
“What? No! Mr Stark I couldn’t ask that of you, you’ve done so much for me already and this is just a little thing, like a hobby really-“  
“No arguments. I’m your legal guardian and if you want to do fouettes or whatever they’re called I’ll give you means for it okay? Besides, it’s good for balance and your…Spidey stuff”  
“I…I guess”  
“So its settled” Tony always had a way of ending a conversation on his word and no matter the situation, he always seemed to come out victorious. Despite trying to play off Ballet as ‘Spidey stuff’ Peter could hear the genuine care in his voice that the teen could still hardly believe existed. All for him. So as he stood to his feet, his response came as genuine as that care in his mentor’s voice.  
“Thank you Mr Stark”  
“Don’t sweat it, Kid…also, it’s late. Go to bed now”  
“What about you?”  
“Do as I say not as I do”  
Peter laughed as Tony reached up to ruffle his hair.


End file.
